(no subject)
Garret slips under his bedcovers, too exhausted to change clothes. He falls asleep almost immediately, feeling the heavy warm press of sleep bearing down on him.
Someone was in bed with him but he was alone, wasn't he? He should be panicking. The memory of that vampire stalking him wasn't so far behind, he still made sure there was silver or holy water in his reach before he fell asleep every night.
No, this was a familiar body, a familiar mouth pressed to the side of his neck and drawing out moans from--him? That was him moaning. Hands caressed his body, hands that knew him, knew the planes of his body. Hands that knew how to make him writhe against this other body, not a body of soft curves that usually haunted his dreams. And that hand--that hand was most definitely not human, the sort some might call 'monstrous' but if that hand was monstrous then so was that tail currently stroking up his legs and he doesn't want that to be monstrous, anything that felt that good couldn't be bad.
Pleading escaping his lips--he hates begging, but this is a call for a halt, a pause. He's not ready, the last time that happened he was half drunk off of the sex pollen and he ached for days after. Green eyes watch back, sweat-dampened blond hair falling over a face. Familiar face, of course he knows Cyric. But Garret had said he wasn't ready for the physical yet, he was still getting used to dating a guy. And then Cyric wrapped his hand around his cock and Garret can't remember what he was worried about, grabbing onto the demigod's shoulder and pulling him down into a hungry kiss, body arching and rocking up to meet his.
He wakes up moments before climax, clothes and sheets soaked with sweat, moaning at the confines of too-tight pants. He pushes his pants down, squirming anxiously before it's too late, reaching down and he comes with a moan of Cyric's name. He lays there for some time, half curled on his side and hand down, still wrapped around his now limp penis, too tired now again to even tuck himself away. The energy does come, though, to at least kick his pants the rest of the way off and pull his boxers up a little more, and then to tear his shirt off from his sweat-slicked body before he falls back asleep.
Someone was in bed with him but he was alone, wasn't he? He should be panicking. The memory of that vampire stalking him wasn't so far behind, he still made sure there was silver or holy water in his reach before he fell asleep every night.
No, this was a familiar body, a familiar mouth pressed to the side of his neck and drawing out moans from--him? That was him moaning. Hands caressed his body, hands that knew him, knew the planes of his body. Hands that knew how to make him writhe against this other body, not a body of soft curves that usually haunted his dreams. And that hand--that hand was most definitely not human, the sort some might call 'monstrous' but if that hand was monstrous then so was that tail currently stroking up his legs and he doesn't want that to be monstrous, anything that felt that good couldn't be bad.
Pleading escaping his lips--he hates begging, but this is a call for a halt, a pause. He's not ready, the last time that happened he was half drunk off of the sex pollen and he ached for days after. Green eyes watch back, sweat-dampened blond hair falling over a face. Familiar face, of course he knows Cyric. But Garret had said he wasn't ready for the physical yet, he was still getting used to dating a guy. And then Cyric wrapped his hand around his cock and Garret can't remember what he was worried about, grabbing onto the demigod's shoulder and pulling him down into a hungry kiss, body arching and rocking up to meet his.
He wakes up moments before climax, clothes and sheets soaked with sweat, moaning at the confines of too-tight pants. He pushes his pants down, squirming anxiously before it's too late, reaching down and he comes with a moan of Cyric's name. He lays there for some time, half curled on his side and hand down, still wrapped around his now limp penis, too tired now again to even tuck himself away. The energy does come, though, to at least kick his pants the rest of the way off and pull his boxers up a little more, and then to tear his shirt off from his sweat-slicked body before he falls back asleep.